


Hot Chocolate

by wakandan_wardog



Series: Tumblr Shenanigans [10]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pet Names, Short, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 18:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandan_wardog/pseuds/wakandan_wardog
Summary: So a combination of a prompt and a ship. From jacarandabanyan "Hot Chocolate" and bash-it-all's "IronPanther".





	Hot Chocolate

“What kind of life involves growing up without hot chocolate?” Anthony Edward Stark rants while standing at his stove, a ratty tank clinging to his torso and overly-long designer slacks pooled under his feet.

The slacks are overly long because they’re T’Challa’s, but he doesn’t protest Tony wearing them. Tony is actively encouraged to wear anything he wishes out of T’Challa’s wardrobe. Or nothing, when they’re alone. When they’re alone, ‘nothing’ is infinitely preferable.

As it stands, he’s a weird mix of designer-hobo and mechanic chic, his hair sweat-spiked and an assortment of bruises and scrapes scattered over him. Of course the bruises are more deliberate than the cuts or scrapes from his projects, clustered along his shoulder, the line of his throat, disappearing under the fabric covering chest and back.

T'Challa, for his part, says nothing to interrupt the rant. He drapes himself back against a distant countertop and smiles, watching as Tony shuffles to the fridge, to the cabinet, back to the stove, clucking and stirring and ranting under his breath. You’d think that after a day of business meetings, engineering a battle with AIM agents trying to infiltrate a local lab, and then the hours spent working on his suit, the man would be exhausted. Tony Stark didn’t ever seem to be exhausted, and he’d taken T'Challa to bed to prove it.

The King of Wakanda had thought he might be able to talk his pretty little Mechanic into a few hours of sleep, especially after wringing two orgasms out of the man. But something, somewhere, had gone awry. One moment they were curled up talking, Tony nearly asleep against his collarbone… The next the man was up and throwing clothes on, ranting about the injustice of it all, and storming to the kitchen with a bewildered T'Challa in his wake.

“I love you, I do.” Tony is ranting as T'Challa tunes back in.

Bemused, he inclines his head in a gracious nod. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Tony waves a spoon in acknowledgement and returns to stirring like a mad thing. His words continue like T'Challa said nothing, the pitch increasing slightly. “I love Okoye and Ayo. I love Shuri when I get to talk to her, she’s incredible. I’m sure I would love your country. But you  _cannot tell me_  that there is no hot chocolate in Wakanda and expect me to be okay with it!”

“I really didn’t mean to upset you.” T'Challa offers gently, trying to appease his lover before stepping closer. “I could tell it was a compliment.”

“It does not matter if you could  _tell_.” Tony mutters, as scandalized as a house cat thrown in a bath. “Nearly everything I say to you is a compliment, you’re incredible. It’s not about that!”

“Yes dear.” T'Challa switches tactics, sliding an arm around Tony’s waist and pulling the man back into his bare chest. He nuzzles at silken, coffee-colored hair and purrs softly. “What, pray tell, is it about?”

“There’s no fun in calling you ‘hot chocolate’ if you don’t know exactly what I mean when I say it.” Tony grumbles, scowling at the pot of thick chocolate he continues to stir. “You’ve never had it. It’s a travesty, that you don’t know that specific feeling. When you drink hot chocolate there’s a very precise sensation, a warmth in your chest, and a rich taste on your tongue and it’s  _magic_. But you don’t know that because you’ve never had it, so we have to fix it!”

“So you’re making me hot chocolate.” T'Challa repeats, hiding his smile against the shorter billionaire’s shoulder. “So I know how it feels, so I understand how I make you feel.”

Tony hesitates, the wind out of his sails as he reaches forward and turns off the stove. “Umm… Possibly when you say it like that, it sounds foolish? But… Yes?”

“ _Uthando_.” T'Challa smiles, spinning him around and pulling him close. “I know how I feel when I am with you, surely that is enough?”

“I’m not your hot chocolate, you’re mine.” Tony argues, reaching up and twining his arms around T'Challa’s neck. “Indulge me?”

The King puts on his most innocent expression, hands sliding down to curl possessively over his lover’s perfect ass. “But what about all your hard work?”

“You’re awful.” Tony grins, leaning up for a kiss. “Let me clarify. The hot chocolate  _first_.”

“Just to be sure, you are talking about the one in the pan this time, yes?”

“You’re not funny at all.”

“In my country, everyone would laugh.”

“Only because your sister arranged for some way to embarrass you, or because you are King.” Tony drops a kiss on the King’s chin and darts out of reach, fetching two mugs.

T'Challa sighs loudly. “No respect, no respect at all.”

“Drink your hot chocolate and take me to bed.” Tony purrs, handing a mug over with a flutter of his lashes. “I’ll respect the hell out of you there, I promise.”

“Mmmm… Only because I make you.”

“Compel me, maybe.” The Italian man grins, filling his own mug and carrying the pot to the sink. “You’re not the boss of me, Black Panther.”

“What if I ask you very, very nicely?” T'Challa wonders, blowing over the contents of the mug and making his eyes very wide and innocent.

“Mmmm…” Tony rumbles, sipping at his mug and then pretending to consider. “Well… Maybe.”

T'Challa considers this, sipping at the thick Italian Hot Chocolate and gazing at his lover across a state-of-the-art kitchen. The majority of the room is dark, lit by a small bulb over the stove and the distant windows of other sky-scrapers. The beverage is warm as it slides down his throat, and as he feels that warmth pool in his chest he thinks maybe he understands what Tony was trying to say. He swallows some more and lifts his head, licking his lips slowly.

Tony stares, his dark eyes wide where they fix on T'Challa’s mouth.

Fairly certain of victory, T’Challa sets his mug in the sink and prowls forward, making his voice low and soft. “Let me convince you,  _Uthando_.”

Tony visibly wavers, shivering faintly before he nods and visibly swallows, pupils blown wide. “Alright… Convince me.”

**Author's Note:**

> “Uthando” is love in Xhosa, according to the internet.


End file.
